


my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue, all's well that ends well to end up with you

by theragingstorm



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (Comic), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/F, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Love, Racism, not really conscious ableism but definitely realities of being disabled, so so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 22:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: The last day before a wedding leads to some confrontations, and some realizations.





	my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue, all's well that ends well to end up with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rocket_rach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocket_rach/gifts).

> This all began because Otto Schmidt drew this, and I haven't been over it since: https://flamevbirdv.tumblr.com/post/187107228837/otto-schmidt-nightwing-earth-11
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's "Lover", which I haven't stopped listening to since it came out.

She woke up the day before she was to be married late on a Monday morning. White-gold light flooded the room so that the sheets glowed like the inside of a seashell, the slightly open window let in a breeze scented with metal and the rushing sound of millions of bustling city-dwellers, and Barbara was still asleep next to her, long red hair splayed across the pillows and her sides rising and falling as she breathed. Both of them were still naked from the previous night, though the expanse of Barbara’s skin was mostly covered by the sheets, and where it was exposed, the paleness of it was interrupted at every turn with the soft blushes at her chest and cheeks and joints, the silvery-pinkish puckered scars, and the copper-colored points on her skin that seemed as endless as the stars. 

She ran a hand over Barbara’s shoulder, down her strong arm, admiring the body she knew so well, before pulling back the covers and slipping out of bed, noting that the previous night’s clothes were still scattered over the floor and smirking faintly to herself. 

The clock on the nightstand read _ 10:47 _, and looking through the open window, Gotham was all metal and stone, dingy silver, but it was brighter than usual, bathed in rare summer sun. The sky was even mostly blue, with only a few wisps of gray veiling it. 

Humming to herself, she picked clean panties out of the dresser, and was just selecting a pair of faded jeans and a bra when the woman in her bed finally stirred, groaning.

She brightened, moving fluidly back towards the bed, crawling up over the mattress and kissing her fianceé’s cheek.

“What time is it?” Barbara groaned.

“Late. You overslept, babe.”

“I said, what time is it?”

“Did I wear you out?” she teased. “Is that why the great and powerful Oracle overslept? Was last night just too much?”

“Rachel Mary Grayson, what the hell time is it?”

Rachel laughed, moving out of range of Barbara’s swiping hand. 

“Okay, okay. It’s almost eleven.”

“Jesus.” Barbara sat up, rubbing her eyes. Even with bedhead and bleary eyes, she was still beautiful, bare as she was in the late morning light. “I told Simone I’d be there by one-thirty to check up on the cake.”

Rachel sat down next to her, resting a hand on her fianceé’s shoulder. Even after all this time, Barbara still started a bit, as if she still wasn’t used to such casual physical affection. 

“You have plenty of time,” she assured her. She yawned, running her hand through her thick black hair; through puberty, when she was Robin, she’d kept it in a choppy bob, then when she first became Nightwing she’d had it out so long, all the way down her back. Now she kept it in a slightly overgrown pixie cut, soft waves tickling her neck and the side of her face, constantly having to sweep it back so it didn’t fall in her eyes. “And there’s no way Simone won’t have everything done by tomorrow.”

Barbara pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. Rachel rolled back off their bed, snatching up a Superman t-shirt and a thick brown belt, feeling Barbara’s eyes on her body. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Barbara said abruptly. “Maybe this wedding has me stressed out too much.”

“Yeah, for a day that’s supposed to be the happiest of our lives, we sure have to put a lot of work into it.”

“But _ you’re _ calm.”

“False front. All the wedding stuff, on top of all the last minute work I had to do before I took time off and all the last-minute cases getting piled on me because the kids want to spend a little more time with me and going on cases with me is the only way they can express that, before last night I was about to fucking _ collapse _ . At this point you should know I don’t _ do _ calm, Babs.”

Barbara smiled dryly, sympathy in her eyes.

“So what, I fucked the stress out of you?”

“Something like that.”

Barbara finally laughed, rolling to the side of the bed and clambering into her wheelchair. She ran her fingers through her red locks, sliding her glasses up her nose before stretching out her hands; Rachel tossed her a set of her own clothes. 

“You want to shower first, or should I?”

Her fianceé tilted her head to the side, letting go of her bright hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. 

“Save time and do it together?”

Rachel’s eyes grew wide, then she grinned.

“Guess you’re not that tired after all.”

Barbara smiled.

* * *

“You know, that never actually saves us any time.”

They still had quite a while until Barbara needed to fulfill her promise, and they’d already conducted all their other final checks before the wedding, so they had decided to stop for a belated breakfast -- or rather, lunch. The little cafe, owned by a pair of married Italian immigrants, was only a few minutes’ walk from Simone’s Bakery; there was all the time in the world. Rachel leaned back in her seat, sipping her latte and watching a little boy escape his parents’ leisurely walk to the park in order to chase pigeons down the sidewalk. 

“If anything, I think it takes _ longer _ than when we shower separately.”

“And whose fault is that?” Barbara retorted, but she didn’t really sound upset. She waved her mostly-eaten panini in Rachel’s direction, pausing to drain her espresso cup. “_ You’re _ the one who insisted upon --” She glanced over her shoulder at the little boy, in his overalls and frizzy Afro, squealing in delight at the startled pigeons while his parents ran after him, and quickly changed what she was about to say, “-- second helpings, so to speak.”

“Well, I can’t help that ‘first helpings’ was so delicious that I wanted seconds, now can I. And it would’ve been quicker if you’d let me wash your hair for you afterwards.”

“No it wouldn’t have. When you’re in the shower and we’re not having sex, you sing.”

“So?”

“So last time I let you wash my hair you sang that one ABBA song that’s like six minutes long, and you got so into it that it took you three times as long to shampoo and rinse me as it should’ve because you _ insisted _ on finishing the whole song.”

Rachel rolled her eyes and finished off her own sandwich.

“I can’t believe I’m marrying a woman with no taste.”

Barbara smirked, wiping her lips and flagging down the waitress for their check. 

“I’m going up to the front counter and getting some cookies to go. You just sit there and look pretty, okay honey?”

“Mmm okay; lucky for me that’s so easy,” Rachel chuckled as Barbara set down some cash and rolled away. She rested her chin on her hand and watched her go; maybe it was all the excitement the wedding was creating, but she really did think that she looked even lovelier than usual. Even in her plain outfit: the flats, the dark blue jeans, and a white tank top that showed off her arms, her hair tied up in a ponytail, she took Rachel’s breath away. 

Rachel looked at her hand against the wooden cafe table. Both the same shade of brown, but the wood was so smooth and polished, while her hands were as rough as a carpenter’s, fingers and wrists and arms tattooed with so many scars. 

The marks of being Batman’s daughter. No child of Bruce’s had gotten off easy, in life or in crime-fighting.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by furtive whispering nearby.

“Did they have to talk so loudly?” 

She looked around. 

Two young women in short skirts, around her age, shopping bags around their feet, were sitting at another table, muttering behind their hands. 

“Like, what is with them? If they’re gonna talk about sex, do they _ have _ to do it in front of normal people?”

“Ugh.” Her friend shuddered. “They gotta rub it in everyone else’s faces. I mean, I’m not homophobic or anything --”

“Yeah no, your cousin Gary’s gay, I remember.”

“-- but like, why do they gotta show it off all the time? It’s so annoying.”

A quartet of middle-aged women at a different table, pretending like they hadn’t been listening, exchanged knowing glances. 

Rachel took a deep breath, turning away from the rest of the patrons and facing the sidewalk. She then saw that three men had stopped a few feet away from her.

As soon as they saw they had her attention, the middle of the three wolf-whistled loudly. The other two nodded in agreement, all three of them gawking unabashedly at her.

“Oh boy,” Rachel sighed.

“Hey baby,” the whistler greeted, leering. 

“Can those legs look _ any _better in those jeans?” declared the second guy.

“I don’t see how, but that’s not really the point,” she replied, focusing down on her coffee cup. 

“Stand up and we’ll see, sweetheart.”

The second guy peered at her a little closer. 

“Where’d ya get such blue eyes, girl? You mixed? You must be.”

“Shit, but they look good,” the whistler groaned. “‘Specially surrounded by all that caramel.”

She sighed again.

“You taste like caramel too?” He grinned, licking his lips. “Can I find out?”

The third man peered at her a little more closely too, but he must’ve been more observant, because instead of giving her a lascivious look like his friends, his eyes suddenly got wider.

“Guys, maybe we should go,” he mumbled.

“You kidding? We just got started here.”

“Guys, I’m telling you, this girl ain’t worth it.”

“Why the hell not?”

Rachel finally smirked a bit. 

“Man, that’s one’a Bruce Wayne’s kids. _ The _ Bruce Wayne, that’s his oldest daughter. The one who’s been in all the papers on account of she’s marryin’ Commish Gordon’s girl.”

The other two men visibly started.

Unfortunately, they then began grinning again, worse than before. 

“You like girls, princess?”

“More than you, I imagine,” she replied. 

One of the middle-aged women, who’d once again been doing a bad job pretending not to be eavesdropping, coughed loudly into her hand. Her friends patted her on the shoulder sympathetically, giving Rachel a look of deep discomfort. The younger women tittered and muttered behind their hands. 

“Why _ do _ they have to talk about it in public? I mean, I’m trying to eat here.”

Her friend nodded solemnly.

Rachel ignored them, just kept acting casual, trying not to show that her insides were crawling. Nine years of this, ever since she’d turned sixteen and puberty had started being kinder to her, which also happened to be when she’d publicly come out as bisexual. When she’d turned eighteen, it’d only gotten worse, because then she’d also had to deal with the attention of people who’d had _ just _ enough moral fiber -- or who’d been _ just _ enough afraid of Bruce’s wrath -- to not try anything while she was underage and still living with him. 

She was very good at not showing that it got to her. She’d certainly had enough practice.

“Guess it’s true what they say about _ those _ girls,” the whistler said, “they’ll do anything and anyone. Works out for the rest of us, hey?”

“Wait, Larry, which kind of girls?”

“In her case, both kinds.”

It was impossible to miss, but none of the other customers were saying anything about it, just focusing very intently on their food or conversations, the younger women still whispering and raising their eyebrows at her. A couple of suit-clad businessmen were giving Rachel annoyed looks, like it was _ her _ fault their meal was being disturbed. 

She was about to say something else, but right then was when Barbara wheeled back outside, the bag of cookies balanced on her lap. For a second, she looked confused, then her green eyes went wide behind her glasses, then narrowed. 

She looked over her shoulder and yelled:

“Vito! Antonia! C’mere!”

Then she rolled right up, placed her cookie bag on the table, and violently swung her purse at the whistler; it landed with a painful_ thuck, _ making him yowl in pain and clutch his shoulder.

“Back off, asshole,” Barbara snarled while the other customers gasped and screamed. 

“Who do you think you are, bitch?” shouted the second man. The more sensible third man took a few steps back. “You could’ve dislocated Larry’s shoulder!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Larry the whistler howled, “what the fuck do you carry in that thing? Buckles?”

“There, see,” the second man exclaimed, “you could’ve seriously hurt him! And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, we were just having a little fun, that’s all.”

Barbara thrust her hand holding the purse at them; they all jumped backwards.

“Get_ away_ from my bride.” Her voice was low and dangerous; Rachel wasn’t even the target of it and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “I will call my father if I have to, but I would much rather deal with you myself. Don’t give me an excuse to.”

Right then is when Vito and Antonia Fortuna, the equally short and dark-haired owners of the cafe, came running out. Antonia, with her soft face and kind black eyes, understood what was going on at once and shrieked at the top of her lungs in Italian, swinging her own purse; _ she _ caught Larry in the side of the head. While Larry howled again, Vito calmly sat down next to Rachel.

“Women,” he said affectionately in his heavy Tuscan accent, mustache twitching.

Rachel smiled faintly.

“Out! Out!” Antonia shouted at the three cowering men. Barbara smirked. “Get away from my cafe and away from the nice Grayson girl, or I’ll go get my rolling pin!”

Vito kept watching calmly as his wife kept shouting after the men, long after they’d started running. 

“You will like marriage I think, _ signorina _.”

Barbara rolled back to the table, her smirk fading, sighing and resting her head on her hand. Everyone else around them went back to pretending to mind their own business. 

“We are sorry for those _ figli di puttana _,” Antonia said, walking over too. “Next time you come, when you are back from your honeymoon, you have as much coffee and cannoli as you want, ‘on us’ as Americans say.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” Rachel said to her. “It’s my fault they came here, you don’t have to do anything for me.”

Barbara’s brow furrowed.

“Do not be stupid,” Antonia chided. “Just accept the offer.”

Vito nodded in agreement. Rachel still felt deeply uncomfortable, shrinking down slightly in her seat, wishing that these people hadn’t had to be inconvenienced. 

“_Grazie, Signor e Signora Fortuna, _” Barbara told them. When they went back inside, she added another five dollars to the money on the table, then the two of them finally left. 

They were half a block down the sidewalk before either of them said anything. 

“Rach, I --”

“Babs, I wanted to apologize.”

Barbara stared up at her.

“Ever since we got engaged, we’ve just...we’ve been harassed so much more. Remember last week, when we were at dinner and that waiter didn’t want to serve us, the manager had to force him? And two weeks ago, when some lady recognized us from the tabloids and screamed in the middle of the supermarket that we were what was wrong with modern society? And then a month ago, when we were at the park and that other lady called the cops on us?”

“Boy was she embarrassed when it was Renee and Maggie that showed up,” Barbara recalled, smiling bitterly.

“What I’m saying is, when I asked you to marry me, I never intended to bring people like those three guys and those other people at the cafe -- I mean, everyone else down on us. I’m sorry.”

Barbara brought her wheelchair to a stop, then reached up and took her hand. A middle-aged woman and her children happened to pass by then; the children stared curiously, the woman pursed her lips, hurrying the kids along twice as fast as though the two of them were contagious.

“Rach, I _ chose _ to be with you. After a great deal of,” she took a deep breath, “work on myself, I must say. Because I _ love _ you, and I _ want _ to be with you. Being with you is the _ better _ option, and I wish you could see that.” She squeezed her hand. “And that this isn’t your fault. This is the way the world is right now.”

“But it_ shouldn’t _ be like this,” Rachel insisted. “You and I getting married, you should be _ happy _; you shouldn’t have to think about anything but our wedding tomorrow. I don’t want you to have to chase off assholes just so we can have lunch in public.”

“You act like it’s such a problem for me. I’ve chased off _ way _ worse than those guys.” Barbara’s chuckled was still tinged with bitterness. “Rach, this doesn’t make our lives more difficult. It’s a struggle for each of us _ separately _. You know that.”

Of course she knew that. Those kinds of men had been harassing her long before they knew about Barbara. And they were far from the only ones. All the people who’d panicked because they saw her in a nice neighborhood. All the times she’d been stopped by the cops. But more importantly to Rachel, if not in the grand scheme of things, it was a struggle for her fianceé just to exist in public, just to get around sometimes, because the world was tailored for people who were not like her. 

They disentangled hands to keep going, reaching the end of the sidewalk. The curb dropped off sharply with no dip to the road and no ramp. Barbara sighed, her shoulders falling. 

Rachel suddenly bent to help Barbara, knowing as she did that she was one of perhaps three people in the entire world that Barbara would let help her with this kind of thing. As the chair moved forward, she picked it up slightly, easing it down to the crosswalk, so that it would not land too sharply or skid.

“There’s my Girl Wonder,” Barbara said softly, the bitterness in her tone receding. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Always.”

Rachel couldn’t forget the eyes that were still on them as they finished the walk to the bakery. Just by standing a little too close to a woman, with her short hair and muscles, while not dressed femininely, it was like existing in a spotlight. 

Now, Rachel loved the spotlight. Lived easily under it. Performing was, of course, second nature; she smiled and walked along easily under all those stares. 

She just wished Barbara didn’t have to be under it too. Her detective training couldn’t miss the way Barbara flinched when she noticed a new look, the way her shoulders tightened and eyebrows bunched together. Her discomfort was almost palpable, and Rachel, unusually, hated the eyes, the fixation. 

They walked into the bakery, the bell on the door jingling, and of course, everyone there turned around at once, which made the cashier look up, her eyes fixating on them, seeming at first like all the others. She was a high school-aged girl, seventeen at the most; she had long, violet-dyed cornrows, and had paired her work uniform with dangling silver star earrings. She was skinny and awkward, her fingers fluttering nervously on the register, focusing on Rachel and Barbara long after it would’ve been considered rude; tilting her head, blinking rapidly but not moving her gaze, as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. 

Instinctively, Rachel put a protective hand on Barbara’s shoulder. The girl’s eyes locked onto this, narrowing -- and then going wide. Her hand slipped, and she accidentally brought a customer’s total up to two hundred and seventy dollars instead of two and seventy cents. 

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, her breathing growing rapid. “I’ll get that right for you.”

She frantically handed over the confused man’s donut, ringing up the other customers with shaking hands until it was their turn in line. She was staring at them with such intensity that Barbara shifted uncomfortably in her wheelchair; Rachel squeezed her shoulder, reading _ Brandi _ on the girl’s name tag.

She then took a deep breath and bit the bullet. 

“Hi. We’re friends of Simone’s, and we’re here to check up on our wedding cake for tomorrow.”

Brandi jolted and gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. Barbara’s shoulders tightened, but all of a sudden Rachel realized that the girl’s expression was alight with excitement, not disgust. 

“You _ are _ together!” she squealed delightedly, eyes crinkling. “I knew it!”

Barbara’s mouth fell slightly open. Rachel felt her chest abruptly and unexpectedly fill with warmth.

“Yeah, we are,” she said, placing her other hand on Barbara’s shoulder as well. Her fianceé blushed slightly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear. It happened to be her left hand, and upon seeing her engagement ring, Brandi squealed a little more. 

The other customers looked over again curiously, a few looking a little irritated by the cashier’s open joy. But Brandi was so caught up in her excitement, she didn’t seem to notice. 

“Okay,” she said at last, “I’ll go -- I’ll go check with Simone for you --”

She almost tripped running from the checkout, hand still over her mouth, giggling excitedly to herself. Soon in the background they heard her excited chattering, and Simone’s enthusiastic replies.

Barbara exhaled softly, finally smiling again.

“Oh my God.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agreed, feeling a smile grow across her own face. “That’s just like I reacted when _ I _ was a kid and Diana first told me that she was involved with some of her fellow Amazons."

“Yeah, I remember. And also how through most of your late teens, you were awfully broody.” Barbara’s eyes sparkled. “But you always brightened up when Kate came to Bruce’s galas and told you about who _ she _ was dating.”

“Yeah, and look how I turned out because of it.” Rachel dared bend down to kiss her on the cheek. Some unidentified person sighed softly behind them. 

Brandi returned, slightly out of breath. 

“Simone says the cake will be frosted, topped, and ready to go --”

“Just like I was last night,” Rachel muttered under her breath, snickering. Barbara elbowed her.

“-- by tomorrow morning, and we’ll have it delivered it to your venue by noon.” She fiddled with one of her cornrows. “Have you paid in advance?”

“Yes,” Barbara told her, “there should be a payment on record for May 10th, under B. T. Wayne.”

“Okay, let me check...Okay! In that case, everything’s good for you two.”

They turned to leave. 

“Wait, uh…” Brandi burst out. Rachel looked at her, the young girl bubbling with enthusiasm, still playing with her hair, suddenly overcome with nerves. “How long have you two been together?”

The two women looked at each other. 

“Three years,” Rachel said at last. “But I’ve known her for ten.”

“We were best friends from our teenage years onward,” Barbara elaborated, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Then a few years ago, after...after our lives had changed a lot, everything seems like it’s finally settling, and _then_ this dingus here somehow gets me to fall in love with her.” 

"One of my best accomplishments," Rachel declared, smiling. 

Brandi not-so-surreptitiously wiped her eyes, still beaming. 

“Okay,” she said, choking up. “Alright. That’s all. Good...good luck with your wedding.” She hesitated. "And...thank you. Thank you so much."

Rachel's chest felt oddly light.

“It's okay. You're welcome.”

They headed back out, and when they did, the daylight suddenly seemed brighter. 

“Cute kid,” she murmured.

Barbara nodded. 

Back on the sidewalk, heading along, she then saw and recognized the pigeon-chasing little boy from earlier, now getting a ride on his father’s shoulders, presumably so his parents wouldn’t have to keep pace with him. 

“Alex, what have I told you about going to the park?” his mother was saying, standing up on her tiptoes to be on the same level as her chuckling husband.

“T’not run off,” he mumbled cheerfully into his father’s shoulder. 

“Yes, and_ also _ to not to dive headfirst into the duck pond.”

“Mirtha, it’s okay, we got him before he actually dived in,” said the father, who still looked amused. Mirtha, the mother, rolled her eyes a bit. 

“Geoff, _ mi amor _ , next time when he says he wants to get closer to the ducks, _ that’s _ when you grab him, not when he’s right on the water’s edge about to jump.”

Rachel burst out laughing despite herself. The family kept going, Geoff shifting carefully so Alex wouldn’t fall and wrapping an arm around his wife, murmuring apologies. Mirtha bristled a little at first, but it only took a moment before she relaxed into his touch, her long coffee-colored curls swishing gently around his big arm. 

Alex propped his tiny elbows on his father’s head, wiggling happily in place, then spotting Rachel and Barbara. He didn’t even miss a beat, just immediately started waving happily at them. At that, Geoff and Mirtha turned and looked too, husband and wife both nodding in understanding, then both smiling encouragingly at the wives-to-be. Mirtha offered them a nod of their own, inclining her head, her brown eyes warm. Rachel grinned brightly, silently greeting them back, then making sure to wave to a delighted Alex, thinking as she did of Lian, Robbie, Jai, Irey, and Cerdian. 

She looked over at Barbara. Her bride-to-be had an odd expression on her face as she watched the little boy and his parents, lost in a kind of careful contemplation. A familiar expression of Barbara’s: there was something she wanted, and she was contemplating what it would take to have and keep it, and when it might happen. 

Rachel’s grin became a little more personal.

“Babs? Let’s go home.”

“Good idea.” Barbara’s eyes hadn’t left the little family. “I still have a few things to wrap up before the wedding and the honeymoon happen and I go on forced vacation for two weeks.”

“And I’m going to finish and turn in the last of my paperwork.” Rachel stretched her arms up over her head. “Heh, what does it say about us that facing all that vacation time, after a lifetime of work, all we’re thinking about is _ more _ work?”

“Blame our fathers.” Barbara finally broke her gaze, dipping her head. “They drilled it into us.”

“I will be very happy to blame our fathers.”

People’s eyes remained on them as they headed home. But this time, as much as she internally flinched under the accusatory eyes, Rachel also saw the inquisitive children, the group of androgynously dressed teenagers that pointed them out and beamed to each other, the two old men seated _ so _ close together on the sidewalk bench, heads on shoulders, their hands entwined, who smiled to each other upon seeing them; saw that all _ those _ expressions weren’t of discomfort or disgust. She still kept her hand on Barbara’s shoulder, but _ they _ were there too, and she saw them. 

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Rachel finished and sent off the last of her paperwork, the sunlight having turned from white to golden. She looked over, watching Barbara at her computer station, her face bathed in electric light. Her fingers moved across her keyboard so regularly, so familiarly, it was like listening to some kind of mechanical heartbeat. 

“Is it five o’clock already?” Barbara exclaimed all of a sudden. “Damn it, I gotta fix dinner --”

“Don’t get up, I’ll do it.” Rachel moved off the couch to her feet, bending into several yoga poses, twisting almost completely over and around with little effort. “Just stay there and finish, babe. Coming up: one very small Rachel Mary Grayson special, fit for two people to eat in its entirety so they can leave for two weeks without worrying about ruined leftovers.”

Barbara just hummed in response, turning back to her computer. Rachel slipped into the kitchen, pulling out everything she needed to make something homey, something the complete opposite of fancy wedding food, of unfamiliar food in a new country. She docked her phone and put on some music. 

The shadows started growing long, and she put the potatoes in for roasting some minutes before the breaded chicken hit the sizzling oil. She thought of the wedding dresses she knew were hanging in each of their closets, of hers, which she knew now as intimately as a second skin, and of Barbara’s, which she hadn’t seen yet at all. 

She listened to the oil crackling and spitting, the music spilling from the speakers and drowning it out, and she watched the sun fill the colors of the steel towers and sidewalk trees with a layer of gold. 

Eventually, she heard the last tap to the keyboard, the muttered “Oracle out,” and the squeak of that one wheel as the chair rolled up to the kitchen. 

“Perfect timing,” Rachel said brightly, plucking the chicken from the oil with a pair of tongs, then pulling the potatoes from the oven. Barbara smiled, moving up to the kitchen island.

For a few minutes, they just ate. The music continued as the light deepened around them, and Rachel savored the taste, the music, and the look of pleasure on Barbara’s face when she took a bite. 

But as soon as her plate was cleared, she realized that her fianceé had begun to look moody again. 

Rachel picked up the plates and silverware. No way was she going to have the woman she was marrying upset through the night before and the day of their wedding. 

“Babs,” she asked at once, “what’s wrong?”

It took Barbara a few seconds to answer. 

“What happened earlier today, at the cafe…” She sighed. “All these years, I’m so sick of watching everyone treat you like that.”

Rachel froze.

“That racist, homophobic crap you have to deal with along with being a woman...on top of everyone thinking they can own you, your money, your body...I hate it so much.”

Rachel looked down at her hands again. Her fingers pressing too tightly against the white rim of the plates.

“And they think that it’ll be_ easy _to own me, because I’m bi, because I’m Roma, and _both_ _kinds_ of women are supposed to be sluts, right?” She heard the bitter edge in her own voice. She walked to the dishwasher and loaded it, kicking out, her heel catching against the outside of the washer and snapping it shut. “Babs, I _know_. I _live_ through that. But _you_ already deal with enough, being in the spotlight because you’re involved with Bruce Wayne’s kid, still known by the media as Jim Gordon’s daughter, the one the Joker shot, and I hate that you have to. I don’t want you worrying about _me_ too on top of that right now --”

“Don’t be absurd.” Barbara’s eyes flashed; Rachel stopped talking. “You’re telling me to stop worrying about you and in the same breath you tell me how much _ you _ worry about _ me _?” She shook her head slowly. “C’mon, Grayson. You know better than that.”

Rachel slowly moved up to her fianceé, reaching her and falling to her knees in front of her wheels. She braced her hands on Barbara’s armrests. 

“I love you so much,” she managed to say. “I know you can protect yourself, but I wish I could make it easier for you. I wish you never had to know or feel my struggles. I wish I could take _ your _ struggles and put them on myself. I thought making it easier for someone was what love was _ for _.”

Barbara’s eyes softened. She was so strong, so tough, it was easy for most people to forget that she had her own pain, her own despair, her own problems, that she could be vulnerable. But Rachel never forgot.

“I know, sweetheart.” Rachel felt the strong fingers caress along the side of her face. “I feel the same way about you.”

Rachel leaned her head into Barbara’s hand, allowing her to hold her, support her.

“But you have to let me help you. Let me allow you to take care of yourself.” Barbara chuckled faintly. “Even if I’m not so great at letting myself be helped either. Even if I have to fight every person in Gotham to let you live in peace.”

Rachel blinked slowly, taking Barbara’s wrist in hand. 

“It’s not nearly as bad as that. Really.” She looked up, letting their gazes meet. “There are lots of good people around us too. People who you don’t have to fight.”

They both were silent for a few moments, remembering. 

“And the ones you _ do _ fight...they’ll _never_ own me.” 

“Because you’re no one’s but yours, Rach,” Barbara agreed softly. 

“Well…” Rachel took Barbara’s other wrist, letting their skin slide against each other’s until their hands were touching, until their fingers were interlocked. The engagement ring was gently cool against her skin. “I’m _ yours _ too.”

Barbara started, blinking rapidly. Her eyes had suddenly become shiny. 

“I...I can’t believe you trust me so much.”

“You didn’t already know that?” Rachel smiled tentatively. “I’m trusting my entire life to you. I’ve loved you for ten years, and I want to be with you for all the rest of them.”

“You’re such a goddamn sap.” Barbara sniffled, a tear tracing down her cheek. “Just let me help you and support you, stupid.”

“Only if it goes both ways.” Rachel got up a little, just enough to kiss her. One of Barbara’s hands was still locked with hers as their lips pressed together, the other traced up along her face and caressed through her short hair. Rachel let go of her wrist and tangled her own hand through those long red tresses, wondering if how they looked in that moment, if they were silhouetted in the golden summer evening light, how ordinary and how special two people in love, safe in their home, looked together. 

When they pulled apart, they said nothing for a few more moments. 

“Helping and supporting _ is _ kind of what we do,” Barbara admitted at last. “It wouldn’t make sense if we couldn’t do it for the people we love.”

“I guess not.” Rachel pressed another kiss to her lips, shorter this time. “Better get into the habit now, before we’re stuck with each other for the rest of our lives.”

Barbara chuckled, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, temporarily knocking her glasses askew. 

“I know we gotta rest up in order to deal with all our friends and family tomorrow, but until then...there’s the Fortunas’ cookies, there’s the stupidly expensive bottle of Port Bruce gave us when we got engaged, and I still haven’t started that show you’ve been telling me to watch.”

Rachel tilted her head.

“You sure? I was kind of planning on going on one more patrol tonight.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but forget work.” Barbara rolled to the counter, looking through the cupboards for the cookie bag. “Your family’s got this, Girl Wonder. You just rest up here for tomorrow. This is _ our _place, you should be happy in it.”

“Shy of a supervillain attack. Or of another sibling murder attempt.”

“Naturally.”

The music swelled as they dug out the cookies and wine, the last song growing to a crescendo as the sun grew lower in the sky. Rachel sprang onto the couch, gently lifting Barbara out of her wheelchair, their arms wrapping around each other. 

The day was coming to an end just as much as the playlist, and so was a chapter in their lives. But Rachel didn’t mourn it. Their lives had changed before, and would change again, and though bad things had happened to them in the past, _ this _ change, she welcomed. As long as she got to be with the people she loved, she could work things out. As long as she got to be with _ this _ person, no matter what happened, no matter where they went, as long as they could go home to each other.

The bad things mattered less, they were easier to bear; the good things became even better. They made it easier to help themselves, to help each other -- and to help countless others around them as well. Just like heroes were supposed to.

The sun slowly went down over Gotham City. Soon, tomorrow would bring an entirely new kind of day.

  



End file.
